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Friendly Reminder

April 26, 2012

Hi all! Just a friendly reminder that you need to sign up separately to receive updates from Jena Kingsley if you want them e-mailed to you! Don’t miss out! There is a place on the home page to enter your email on the upper right hand side. New entries are up! For those of you who already have, THANK YOU!!!!

The End

April 19, 2012

I started writing Darcy Dates nearly two years ago. It was born in my bed on my laptop one evening after I had my fill of experiences and wanted to start documenting them. It started as something I did for myself. I shared it with five friends, who shared it with their friends, and so on, and so forth…until I had real readers. Who were strangers. I couldn’t have been more honored.  To write publicly is to really put yourself out there and I couldn’t have been more thrilled that people actually liked what I was writing. But I wasn’t completely putting myself out there. After all, I was writing under a pen name. Darcy, some of you will be surprised to know, is not my real name.

When I started writing Darcy, no one knew I was Darcy, but over time some people began to catch on so what I wanted to write about became harder and harder to do.

What I did realize through writing Darcy was while I thought I was trying to find love, in the process, I was really finding myself. In the time since I have began writing Darcy I have broken some hearts, and some have broken mine. I have learned what I want in a partner, and I have learned what I definitely don’t want. It’s a process. While often exhilarating, it’s sometimes exhausting.

When I lost my father I learned many important lessons. But one of the most important things I learned is it’s not what you have, it’s who you have by your side. Through this process my friends, my family, and my number one man, my son have been my rock. They have been my everything. I was one of the lucky ones because I had love with me all along. Real, true unconditional love.

I have a ton of stories I have written for Darcy Dates that I haven’t published. That is mainly because I don’t feel the freedom to write what I want like I did when this project first began. And without me being able to be me and write what I truly want to write it won’t be as authentic as it always was. For that reason I have decided to no longer write about my dates. Fear not, as I will continue writing. I will write about other things. Life, daily observations, experiences, my mother and of course Robbie (because how could I not). But not my dates. You can find my new stories at my new site, The Darcy Report. You can also follow my blog on Huffington Post Comedy. I promise to keep you entertained, or at least I promise to try.

Thank you so much for your support over these past two years. I can’t have asked for a better group of readers and I am so honored when each of you shared it, liked it, wrote me, commented and shared your stories with me. I hope you continue to do the same when I am writing about other things.

So…I know what you are all thinking. Where does the story of Darcy Dates end?

My first love after my divorce was Colby. Some of you may remember me writing about him in Yankees vs. Red Sox & Having What It Takes. Colby and I were in love. Real love. He was my best friend and everything I wanted in a partner. To me he was perfect. They say timing is everything, and that may be true. Colby and I met when we were each newly divorced. We were just learning the ropes of single parenthood. Colby broke up with me suddenly and unexpectedly after a year of dating. He broke my heart into 4000 tiny pieces. I thought I would never recover. Three months later he came back. He said he needed to make sure this was what he wanted, after all he was so newly divorced. But it was too late. He had hurt me too badly and I thought it would never be the same. So I broke his and started dating someone else. He waited. He tried patiently for over a year. I don’t think he even dated. He just waited. We would get together, and I would try, but I was worried it was too broken and couldn’t be fixed. Even though I loved him and thought he was everything. No matter what we were doing, through the years we would always find our way back to each other. He would drop everything when I would call. This went on for 4 years.

The truth is, I wasn’t ready. I had to go on this journey and find myself and find out what I was looking for and what I needed and what I wanted. Through this process, I have. I started to really question what it is I wanted and what it was I was searching for. I learned that all relationships are different. There are even different types of love. Some people feel like a home. And others…they feel like a tent. I started to think about Colby. Colby felt like home. I started to think about what we had. I started to think about what an idiot I was. He was one of the best guys I knew. I started to lose sleep over it. I started to think about it obsessively. I reached out to him several times over the past few months but he refused to speak to me. And I didn’t blame him. I had hurt him. The same way he had hurt me. I finally decided to write him a letter. I put my entire heart in there and waited. But once again our timing wasn’t right. Colby informed me he had a girlfriend. I asked if he wanted me to leave him alone. To just say the word and I would. He said yes. Being that this whole thing was my fault, and given the level of respect I have for Colby, I did. I knew it was my own fault. You see, ten months ago, after spending a great few days with Colby I told him I couldn’t be with him. Why? Because I knew being with Colby meant forever. And that scared the living shit out of me. I have very few regrets, but this was one of them.

I didn’t hear from Colby for two months. A week ago, after dropping Bear off at school, I was turning the corner into my building when I heard someone call out.
“Hey.”
I turned to find Colby. All 6’4″ of him standing there. He had been waiting for me. He was wearing a Patriots hat, but I will let it slide. Mainly because the Giants keep beating them in the super bowl.
“What are you doing here?”
“I knew you’d be dropping Bear off at school this morning so I waited for you to get home.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I want to talk about that letter.”

One of my favorite quotes by Orsen Welles is “If you want a happy ending, that depends of course on where you stop your story.”
I choose to stop the story Darcy Dates here. You, my friends, can write your own ending. What do you think happened with me and Colby?

See you at The Darcy Report

Love and light.

All my love,

Jena (AKA Darcy)

P.s.- If you are signed up to follow Darcy Dates, you will have to sign up separately to follow the Darcy Report.

Robbie Gets Cocky

April 4, 2012

“Do you know that I have given a UTI to every girl I have dated?”
“Um…no. I actually did not know that.”
“It’s cause I have a such a powerful penis.”
Crickets.
“Want me to give you a UTI?”
“No. I’m good.”

At least he has a new angle. Promising things like infections and discomfort. Come to think of it, he’s like an infection. That you just can’t get rid of. Oh Robbie. We love you.

(See: Channeling Demi, Robbie Reunion, The Robbie Report, He’s Baaack, My Date With Robbie, Robbie.com, Hey Jealousy, A Visit From Robbie  , A Diamond is Forever and So Is Robbie,  Advice From My Doorman, Robbie On Housekeeping, Real Calls From Real Men Meet Robbie’s Family.)

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The Pimp Award

March 12, 2012

The Pimp Award image via: hiphipwholesale

I was sitting with my date one evening and I had quickly decided the only redeeming factor that it was a few blocks from my house at a place I had always wanted to try. He was handsome in a not-my-type kind of way.  I wondered how long I would have to stay without it being considered rude. He spent the first 20 minutes lecturing me about tax reform. I spent the first 20 minutes playing jax in my head. I am sure he meant well, but he was a bit rigid, and at some point told me my child must be spoiled because he goes to private school.
“Not to judge your parenting.”
“Of course not.”
I hate you.

When the waiter approached, and asked if we wanted another glass of wine I looked at my date, hoping he too wasn’t enjoying our date and he would say no. But no such luck. He suggested another round.
“Would you like some food? Are you hungry?” My date said, offering me the menu.
Maybe a bowl of soup. If you promise to drown me in it. You know, just hold my face in there. Until I stop breathing.
“No. I’m good. Thanks.”

When our second glass of wine arrived I looked up only to make eye contact with the most handsome man. He was on the other end of the restaurant. We locked eyes, and both smiled at the same time. The entire restaurant fell away and that was all I could see. But I was trapped on terror island with my date. There had to be a way to slip said handsome stranger my number. After all, people have done it to me. But how? The restaurant was tiny. There was no way. Except…one.

“I’ll be right back. I just need to use the bathroom.” I said, slipping off the bar stool and walking into the bathroom. When I got up, handsome stranger smiled at me again. My date wasn’t looking. So I smiled back.

When I got into the bathroom I quickly texted Alexis:
“Hi! Help! I am at (insert name of restaurant here) Please call the restaurant and ask to speak to the hot guy with dark hair and a black sweater who is sitting by the door with another man who is wearing a plaid shirt. Tell him your best friend is on a terrible date and give him my number. He will know who it is.”
I hit send, prayed for the best and walked out of the bathroom, back to my date.

Not two minutes later the phone on the bar lit up. I saw the bartender speaking and passed the cordless to the waitress. Her eyes grew wide, she looked around the room. I saw a lot of commotion and whispering among the manager and staff. The waitress began to walk aimlessly around the restaurant with the cordless phone.

THAT’S MY GIRL! It could have been the most genius idea I have ever had. Well, at least my most genius idea that week. I couldn’t follow the events that were unfolding as I had to follow the conversation that was going on on my actual date.
“And anyway that’s why McCain had to go with Palin as a running mate.” He said.
“Right. Of course.”

Now the entire restaurant staff was in on it. Yes, this is a terrible story, and makes me a very bad date. I realize. But I was on a bad date, so don’t I get some type of pass here?

I watched the waitress approach said stranger with the cordless phone. I see said stranger and the waitress talking. He looks up at me and smiles. He takes the phone. This was AMAZING. I watched him on the phone. I don’t know what they were talking about, but they talked for a couple of minutes. I knew Alexis was getting the whole scoop for me. His friend kept turning and looking at me. So did the table next to them. We were all smiling. My poor date had zero idea this was unfolding.
Until he said, “Those guys keep checking you out.”
“Which guys?” I said, acting completely unaware.
“Those guys. Over there.” He motioned in their direction.
Oh, that guy? You mean my next date? Oh. Yeah. Him. He’s cute isn’t he?
“I didn’t see.” Ugh, I may have been going to hell, but it was so worth it.
I get another text from Alexis.
“His name is Matias. He is from Argentina. He is going to call you.”

Finally, I was brave enough to end my date. I couldn’t really take it for another minute.
“Well, we should get going.”
“Really? Oh-”
I was kind of abrupt.
I walked him out of the restaurant and to the subway on the corner.
“It was really great meeting you.” I said and gave him a one arm hug. You know the kind. Where you add an insincere pat?
“You too.”
In the spirit of full disclosure. I may have pushed him down the stairs to get him out of there faster.
When the coast was clear and my date was safely underground, I snuck back to the restaurant. Who am I?

“Hi!” I said to the Argentinian duo who was now waiting for me at the bar. “I’m Darcy.”
“I know.” He said with a thick accent. He was even more handsome up close.
After some small chat I asked how old he was.
“25.”
Wow. That was really young. I wasn’t expecting that. It’s as though I actually reached into a cradle and pulled him out.
“I’m 36. And a mom. And too old for you.”
“You are perfect.”
It was good enough for him, and apparently tonight, good enough for me.

Matias ordered a bottle of red wine and we talked for hours. He he was sitting so close he would whisper in my ear as we spoke. And I liked it.
One of the waiters came up and whispered to me.
“You know, we have all decided you get the pimp award. We have never seen such a smooth move.”
The bartender gave me a knuckle punch. “Excellent job girl.”
I smiled. I imagined accepting my pimp award. I would like to thank Alexis, for helping make this possible. I would say as I accepted the golden cane, or was it a pimp cup? Whatever it is that pimps carry.

When we were done with our wine, we walked out into the cold night air. He held my hand. Or maybe I held his, because he was a child. And I wanted him to be careful crossing the street. We walked, we talked. I practiced my Spanish. He was polite and told me it was good. He walked me all the way to my block. He kissed me. It was the kind of kiss you want. The kind where you melt into each other and your knees get weak. I was happy.
“Do you want to come up to my apartment for a drink?” He asked.
I looked into his dark eyes. He was so handsome, unbelievably sexy…but I didn’t need to go home with him. He was a stranger. A very young one.

Matias asked me to dinner the following night. I didn’t accept. I realized, I didn’t need Matias. What I needed more was the lesson. The lesson that at any moment you can feel a spark with someone. When you least expect it. Even when you are on a bad date. With someone else.

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A Valentines Day Poem

February 13, 2012

Love…is actually all around us.

Ladies! I know what you are thinking. You are at a loss. You are stumped on what to write your loved one on his Valentines Day card! Well, I just may have a solution. After a bit of brainstorming, here’s what I came up with:

** “Roses are red, violets are blue, I love my vagina…and so do you!”

Catchy, no? Feel free to take it and make it your own. If you are a guy, I really can’t help you today. You are just going to have to speak from the heart.

**Sorry mom.

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Eleven Missed Calls

February 8, 2012

Eleven missed calls can only mean one person...

The other day I logged onto Facebook to see a guy I dated post divorce just had a baby. He had 3 kids from his first marriage. This was his fourth. Way to hog all the children, I think to myself right before writing “Congratulations!” underneath the picture. The truth is I was happy for him. Afterall, I didn’t want to date him. But I was happy someone else did. He was super nice, super funny…but just not for me.

This is not the first person I have dated post divorce who went on to get married and have children. In fact, several people I have gone on dates with have gone on to get married. At the time, they had told me they were looking for that. I was honest when I told them I just wasn’t sure.

I would be lying if I said seeing the men I have dated, and passed on, go on to get married and have more children didn’t register on some level. I am the first to admit I don’t necessarily pick the right men to fall for (See: Mr. Wrong Right Now). Although I am getting better. Kind of?

But there was one man. One man in particular that really threw me. Are you ready? Because I was not. Yup. Robbie. Even Robbie…had a girlfriend. A real one. His facebook relationship status is now set to “In a relationship with” and has the girls actual name. Which means she agreed to the relationship and went as far as confirming it on Facebook, which as you know gives it major credibility.  He had been telling me he had a girlfriend for quite some time, but I didn’t believe him. Afterall, how could it possibly be true. I thought it was a woman he paid, or locked in his basement. Maybe he was referring to his mother. (See: Meet Robbie’s Family). But the other day when I was on Facebook a picture of Robbie came up in my newsfeed. A picture of him…and his girlfriend. For the first time ever I was curious about Robbie’s life and clicked onto his actual page. There it was. Robbie was listed as being in a relationship with said girl. I…was speechless. I hadn’t been hearing from him at all. Well I had. I would see his name come up on my caller ID from time to time. But it would only happen once, I wouldn’t answer. And then he would vanish. This isn’t the Robbie we all knew. Who called me upwards of 9 times a day for a year and a half.

About a month ago he called me and I decided to answer it. I told him I was really proud of him for being in a relationship with a girl that looked, at least from the outside, completely normal. Pretty even. He told me he loved her and she was the best. I was shocked, but proud. Slightly confused, but proud.
“I make love to her Darcy.”
“That’s. Awesome.”
“She wants to marry me and have babies with me. I don’t know what to do.”
“Do it! You are a man now (huh?), and you seem to love her. And she loves you too.”
“I don’t know. I do make hot, sweet love to her.” (I will spare you the details of what he really said)
“That’s great. I am very happy for you.”
“You want be in a threesome with us?”
“What?”
“A threesome? You want in? Cause i’d like to make hot sweet love to you too.”
“No. I’m good. Thanks.”

He hung up on me, angry as always. He didn’t resurface for at least a week. Checking in, of course, to see whether or not I wanted to have a threesome. He even offered up “making sweet love” to just him.
“But don’t you have a girlfriend?”
“Fine. Goodbye.”

The calls grew more frequent. And, I can’t even believe I am going to admit this, but when I was very sick…I…called Robbie…(oh gd. Hanging my head in shame.) for medical advice. There. I said it. I know. Yikes. He was surprisingly sweet and sensitive. Checking on me regularly. Telling me that if I wanted to get better I needed to drink mass amounts of Gatorade…and masturbate. I know, I know. My own fault for asking him.

The other night I was in bed and I looked at my phone. I had eleven missed calls. That could only mean one thing. Yep. I was right. Robbie. Feeling exceptionally bored, Bear was asleep and there was nothing on TV as all my regular run of the mill trashy shows were on winter break, I called him back.
“I’m bored with fucking my girlfriend.” He said as he answered the phone.
“No. No. Don’t say that.”
“I am. I gotta fuck Darcy. Lots of women.”
“You listen to me. You somehow found a very attractive girl and tricked her into thinking you are sane. You be good to her. You understand?”
“I can’t. I can’t be with her anymore.”
“Why?”
“I just can’t. I need to be with tons of women.”
“But tons of women don’t want to be with you.”
“Darcy. I can’t. I don’t think we are sexually compatible. She doesn’t like the things I like in bed.”
Oh boy. He started to go into details of what that meant. I wanted to mute the phone, but it wouldn’t help me much, cause I would still be able to hear him.
“Robbie. Please. Trust me. You found a good girl. Who you care about. I think. Please hang in there. Maybe it will pass.”
“Do you want to date me?”
“No.”
“Fine.”
And just like that, he hung up on me. As always. But don’t worry. He called back.

If you aren’t familiar with Robbie, you MUST catch up! He is everyone’s favorite character! (See: Channeling Demi, Robbie Reunion, The Robbie Report, He’s Baaack, My Date With Robbie, Robbie.com, Hey Jealousy, A Visit From Robbie  , A Diamond is Forever and So Is Robbie,  Advice From My Doorman, Robbie On Housekeeping, Real Calls From Real Men Meet Robbie’s Family.)

Have you “liked” Darcy Dates on Facebook? If not please join the Darcy Dates Facebook page! And don’t forget to follow Darcy on Twitter @darcydates

February 1, 2012

This is an original Darcy and one of my favorites!

Darcy Dates

Dating in a world with so many mediums is tough. If you have seen the movie He’s Just Not That Into You , you will remember the scene when Drew Barrymore is explaining that there are so many complicated ways to figure out if you are getting dissed; you have to check your email, your texts, your voicemail, your Facebook, your twitter…and it’s true. In a world with so many new and exciting ways to keep in touch, comes major trouble for dating.

Let’s look at the facts. You meet a great guy. He sends you a Facebook friend request. You look at his pictures. He’s cute! You realize you have friends in common. He can’t be that bad! He is randomly friends with your best friend from 3rd grade. He has to be a good guy. She was nice. She let you play with her cabbage…

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All His Children

January 30, 2012

image via: Haines Shoe House

I once went on a date with a guy who had so many children he actually lived in a shoe. Or maybe it was a huge house in Greenwich. I forget now.

 

 

 

 

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Mildly My Type

January 23, 2012

Not me…but it could have been.

I had a date on a very very cold night in New York City. Very cold. He called me to plan it and we were discussing where to meet when I said,
“Can you believe how cold it is outside? It’s freezing.”
There was silence at the other end of the phone.
“Well. It’s not…yea. Not so bad.”
What? I lost four fingers from frost bite when I left my apartment this morning. What do you mean it’s not so bad?
I tried to push my doubt aside that we would have very little in common and got ready for my date. I was wearing so many layers. I wore two jackets, and might have even put on Bear’s snow pants. I didn’t care how I looked. I was going for warmth. I remember showing up for a date recently and when I went to get my coat from the coat rack as we were leaving, my date said to me,
“You wore a puffy coat on this date?”
“Yes. It’s freezing.”
“Then you couldn’t possibly think it was going to be good.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Cause puffy coats aren’t sexy.”
“But they are warm.”
“I am wearing a Rag and Bone coat, and I am freezing. You know why? I wanted to look good for you.” He whined.
It’s not my fault you are the woman in this relationship.I thought, as I pulled my very warm Montcler fur hood over my head and hoofed it out of the restaurant like a clumsy Clydesdale.

But back to my date…

I was standing in the restaurant, layered in puffiness and GORE- TEX when my very tall dark and handsome date walks in his suit. No coat.
“Where’s your coat?”
“This is it.”
“It’s freezing. It’s about 20 degrees.”
“This keeps me warm.”
“Wow.” I said, as I spent the next 20 minutes peeling off layers of clothing. I may have even had glove warmers in. And a hot water bottle shoved up the back of my sweater.
“You see, I am a very positive person, I like to look at things in a very positive manner. So instead of saying “cold” which is a negative word, I like to think it’s mildly refreshing.” He explained.
“Ah. I would like to mildly de-thaw in the kitchen. Next to the oven.”

We sat down and my date began to regale me with his adventurous tales. He had actually climbed Mt. Everest. It would have probably been a bad time to tell him I am too lazy to walk up the stairs at my local Staples so I take the elevator one flight. I was impressed with all that he had accomplished. He was also working on some other crazy expedition where he was walking to the North Pole. Ten days of no sleep. Only “rest.”
“If you notice I have some scruff on my face. I usually shave everyday. But I have to grow a beard for the expedition or my face will freeze.”
“Right. Of course. Wow.” I started to picture what he would look like with a long creepy beard, “When is that?”
“April.”
“Wow. That will be quite a beard.” I had assessed he would look like a hot Osama.
“Yea. It has to be.”
Right now, with only the scruff he looked cute.
The thing is, I was impressed by his incredible motivation and his insatiable lust for accomplishment.

We ordered a bottle of wine and a couple of dishes. We were sharing stories about our background, our upbringing, our hobbies. Even though he was amazing, incredibly sweet and very accomplished, I could just tell we weren’t going to be a good personality match. But the dinner was lovely and I was enjoying his company.
“Hey, you are a writer, you will appreciate this story.”
I nodded, excited for what was to come next. It was a 45 minute story involving the writings of a priest. And something about a goat. I can’t say for sure since I feel asleep half way through the story. I had a dream that I got into a taxi that was driving by outside the window. I guess it was more like a nightmare, because I knew it wasn’t real. In reality he had just ordered another bottle of wine.
Help. A tiny voice cried from within. I’m trapped.

He was trying and seemed like a really good guy. When all of a sudden he said it. Out loud. I don’t recall what we were talking about, but I heard it clear as day.
“I don’t have a television.”
I literally heard the music in the restaurant screech to a halt. At that moment, the date was over. RIP this date.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t have that much time. And the time I do have, I’d rather be doing something more important than watching TV.”
Ah. So we didn’t agree that the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills are important. I see. Well, we tried. We did our best. We sat through this lovely dinner and you are handsome, and incredibly kind. Obviously well read and very very good at your job. But I am trashy. I love reality TV. And like InTouch magazine. A lot.

When it was time for dessert, he asked if I had a sweet tooth.
“Yes.” I said. Figuring he didn’t. I don’t think any of my dates had ever preferred dessert.
“Me too. What would you like for dessert?”
“Hmmmm.” I said, looking over the menu, planning my attack.
“How about we get one of each?”
In that moment. In that single, solitary moment, he went from guy that doesn’t have a TV, to the best date ever. One of each? One of each? He loved desert as much as I did. Maybe we could love each other.

Like two bulimic sorority girls on a binge, we sat and downed one of each.
After the meal, the very dessert heavy meal, I suited back up in my winter gear and we walked out into the mildly refreshing night. No. I can’t. It was still fucking freezing. Is that not positive? Oh well. It’s true.

“Good luck with all of your adventures.” I said as I watched him freeze in nothing but a suit.
“Why good luck? Aren’t I going to see you again? I had a great time.”
“Oh. Yeah. Yes. I guess so. Sure.”
The truth is, I wasn’t sure. Well…I was. But for now, I didn’t have it in me to say no. He was a nice guy. Very sweet and meant well. When he followed up and asked me for another date, and I told him the truth. I didn’t see it being a match. And I love TV too much.

(Note from me): It has been a very long time since I have written about one of my dates. I have to say, I have softened a bit and feel bad writing about this guy. He was super nice, a perfect gentleman, and a true hopeless romantic. Someone will be lucky to have him. Really, truly.

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On Being Discovered

January 17, 2012

I was discovered! Really! You know when models or actresses get discovered? Great talents of one kind or another? Yeah. It was nothing like that.

I was standing in Starbucks when all of a sudden I was approached. By a woman. She was rather attractive.

“Hi.” She says, grabbing my shoulder gently and whipping me around so we were now having some type of private conversation.
“Hi.” I say, quickly scanning my brain wondering if I have ever met her before. I never forget a face, but apparently had forgotten hers.
“I notice you aren’t wearing a wedding ring.” She said in a low tone whisper, glancing down at my hand.
“No. No, I’m not.” Hi, my name is Darcy. And I’m divorced. I want to say, but realize that would probably be too much information for this stranger.
“Are you single?” She asked.
I thought for a second. I wondered if she was hitting on me and suddenly realized, I was not ready for my foray into lesbianism, even though I often tell my mother that I am.
“Yes.” Scared for what was coming next.
“Well, I think you are gorgeous. And you are perfect.”
“For?”
“Setting up. I have a lot of great men.”
I half smiled, not sure of what was going on. I quickly wondered if my mother had slipped her a hundred bucks and a bottle of tequila. I stood cautiously.
“I deal with only the best.” She continued.
I let out a nervous laugh, unsure what to say.
“You see, I am a matchmaker. A very very high-end matchmaker.”
“Oh? Wow. Well-”
“I have men pay a lot for my services. Well, our company’s services. But for the women, it’s free.” Somehow through small talk, she discloses these men can pay anywhere up to 50k for their services.
I furrowed my brow and my jaw dropped a bit. I quickly wondered if matchmaker was code for Madam. I mean, 50k sounded steep. For a date? You could get those for free.
“I, I don’t-”
With that she slipped me her card.
“Call me,” She said. She might of even handed me a bottle of Love Potion number 9, but that part is blurry now. Her email address and company website were on front of the heavy stock card.
“Oh..okay…I’ll check it out. The website. You know..”
“Trust me,” She said, as she walked up to grab her coffee.
“You just go to dinner. That’s it. And if you like them, great, if not, we set you up with someone else.” She said over her shoulder and she walked out on her very high Jimmy Choo heels.

I went home and immediately pulled up the website on my computer as though I was looking up some type of deviant porn act. This…was a secret. A dirty one. Well, a secret I will share with all of my readers. Which are a lot of people. The website was filled with flashy pictures of gorgeous women and the site boasted their high-profile clientele.
I immediately called Alexis.
“Hello?”
“I am becoming an escort.”
“What?”
“I was approached by this woman. She claims to be working for a “matchmaker”, but I am on the site, and it looks like, well, it looks like an escort service. Even the name is uncomfortable to say.”
“That. Is. Amazing.”
“I know. Maybe Jason was right. Maybe I should be an escort.” (See: Take My Ex-Wife. Please)

I googled the company and came up with a wealth of information. Apparently, they were pretty legit as far as matchmakers are concerned. But it still seemed a little escort-esque to me. In a bored moment, and realizing it would make for the best Darcy entry ever, I e-mailed my new friend, Heidi Fleiss, I mean Jackie the matchmaker, and made my appointment.

That night I turned on a red light in my bedroom and practiced dancing in my lingerie in front of my window, like any good escort would do. Oh wait, that’s a hooker. In Amsterdam. What do high-end escorts in New York City do? Wear stilettos and mini skirts to Rangers games. Yeah. That couldn’t be me. I like a lot of layers when I go watch them play.

The day of my “meeting” came. I wasn’t quite sure how to dress for it. It was mid-day, in midtown, in a real office building. Do I wear fishnets? Or just  jeans? A pants suit? Who was I kidding. I was never a lesbian basketball coach so I never ever owned a pants suit. It was particularly cold that day, and by the time I showed up my cheeks and nose were red, like the neighborhood drunk. Or a nice jewish girl about to make the jump to high-class hooker.

I approached the doorman (in this case, the doorwoman) in the lobby and told her what floor I was going to. She asked for my ID. My name was in the system so she could see where I was going. Awkward. She was on the phone and had a Bluetooth in her ear. (You know how I feel about that. See: Can you Hear Me Now). I was pretty sure she was whispering to the person on the other end that a brand new concubine was arriving. She laughed. I cringed.

I walked to the elevator banks. I got lost. There were so many damn elevator banks. I have lived in this city since the day I was born. How did I get lost in a lobby full of elevators? Oh wait, I know how; my moral compass was clearly broken, as I was on my way to meet a Madam.
“What floor are you going to Miss?” One random lobby dweller asked.
“36?”
“Right this way.” He said, leading me to the proper hallway. He looked me up and down and I saw his head turn out of the corner of my eye as I walked past him. Ugh. Did he know where I was going too? But he did check me out. Maybe he’d want to be my first client?

When I got to the offices they were beautiful. Really top-notch. I had to sit and fill out paper work, just like at the doctor’s office. Except instead of medical history I had to fill out things like relationship history. What were my hobbies? My interests? What was my type? Was this really happening?

I entered the room to meet with the matchmaker. Not the original one I had met in Starbucks, but her cohort. After answering a series of questions as to what I was looking for and what my type was, and what some of my deal breakers were, I asked her…as politely as possible:
“This isn’t an escort service right? I mean…it’s not…is it?”
She laughed.
“No! Of course not. We just deal with very busy men, who are looking for something specific. And we find and screen the candidates for them. We will contact you if you meet their criteria, and you can always decline.”
“Okay.” I smiled. Still not convinced. The matchmaker was lovely though. Really. She seemed so normal.
I said my goodbyes and made my way back into the streets of New York City, putting on my sunglasses and pulling the hood of my coat over my head as I left the lobby of course.

By the time I got home, there was an email from the matchmaker telling me how great it was to meet me, and how she already had two people in mind for me with their brief bios attached. One was a surgeon and one was a hedge funder. The men sounded great. Truly. Successful, and kind, with very good life stories detailing acts of kindness and examples of how family oriented they were.

But I couldn’t do it. I didn’t feel comfortable with the process. I figured any man paying a service that much to have dinner with me, would expect a very special dessert. And it’s just not how I roll. I also didn’t love the story.
“Mommy, how did you meet daddy?”
“Oh, he paid a fortune to take me to dinner.”
It was a little too pretty woman for me. And not the opera scene that we all love. More the Hollywood boulevard scene with the bad wig and the knee-high boots and the sofa in the elevator for two.

So I politely declined the dates. I want to find men my way. The old-fashioned way. Finding dates isn’t my problem, but finding the one is. But I will let fate take it’s course. A serendipitous event that no one can predict. And I don’t mind waiting. I have so many hours of trashy TV stored on my DVR I could stay content for a long time really.

Wait. Did I just say I didn’t need to find a good man because I had so much DVR to catch up on? Where the HELL is that lady’s card?

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